Yesterday afternoon I was unable to find my camera lens cap. I searched everywhere, including the garden, to no avail.
This morning I spotted its outline in the hem of my dressing gown. I couldn’t fathom how it had got there, or how to extract it.
Slowly, it dawned on me. Two days ago I had photographed the garden whilst wearing the garment. Yesterday, similarly togged, I had spilt coffee all over myself. This had necessitated the Maintenance Department carrying out a magnificent laundering process.
Clearly I had pocketed the lens cap whilst using the camera in the garden. But it wasn’t in the pocket; and there was no apparent split in the hem –
not until I removed the garment and found a split beyond the neck.
The washing machine had behaved like a member of the Magic Circle and vigorously transported my magic circle.
On a warm and sunny afternoon we brunched at The Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff.
A surprisingly speedy dredger sped off across Christchurch Bay in the direction of Mudeford.
The inevitable boy threw stones into the water;
a small girl stood by the shoreline contemplating getting her feet wet, took the plunge, and thought better of it;
another, having gingerly negotiated the stony beach, was relieved to feel sand beneath her toes;
others enjoyed digging;
or simply wandering about.
One group dried their clothes on a breakwater, while
a surfing lesson was underway;
and distant kayakers approached.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious spinach soup and fresh, crusty, bread. I would refer anyone who thinks that may not have been sufficiently substantial back to what we consumed for brunch. Mind you, Jackie did drink Wairau Cove Sauvignon Blanc 2017, while I enjoyed another glass of the Garnacha